


Service Dogs for Superheroes (SDfSH): They Learned What?

by literally_no_idea



Series: Service Dogs for Superheroes (SDfSH) Main Series [39]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, SDfSH 'verse, Service Animals, Service Dogs, Steve Rogers Has PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 21:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18535432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literally_no_idea/pseuds/literally_no_idea
Summary: While Natasha explains to each handler what she’s taught to their service dog, she also has a few neat little things she’s taught to some of the dogs, her version of failsafes based on what she thinks is important. The first people to discover this are Steve and Tony.





	Service Dogs for Superheroes (SDfSH): They Learned What?

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to the series, or if you're new here, welcome! This part of the series is about some of the other tricks, tasks, or commands that each of the service animals has been taught. Enjoy!

While Natasha explains to each handler what she’s taught to their service dog, she also has a few neat little things she’s taught to some of the dogs, her version of failsafes based on what she thinks is important. The first people to discover this are Steve and Tony.

 

Steve and Tony are trying to decide on lunch, and in the process they get into a mock argument over which is better, Italian or Irish food.

 

Steve jokingly gets into Tony’s space, glaring at him. “How dare you insult my mama’s cooking,” he says, and Tony’s grinning, about to say something back when a yellow blur flies across the room, slamming into Steve and knocking him to the ground.

 

Steve splutters, trying to sit up only to have Verity jump on his chest, keeping him down.

 

“Whoa, Verity, it’s okay! I was joking! I thought Nat and I taught you the difference between serious and joking,” he says, frowning, and he looks up to see Diva blocking between him and Tony, giving Steve what can only be described as a doggy glare.

 

Tony’s eyebrows furrow, and he looks between Verity and Diva, frowning. “Seriously, kids, we were joking, what’s going on?”

 

As if appearing from thin air, Natasha walks by, a plate of Sam’s chocolate chip cookies in one hand and a cup of hot chocolate in the other.

 

“Oh, I taught them that. Good job, Verity, Diva,” Natasha praises, and when Steve and Tony turn to stare at her, she shrugs.

 

“What? We've gotta keep the man in the can safe.” She winks at Tony, and then she’s gone, walking away and taking the elevator back to her personal floor.

 

Tony clears his throat, turning back to Steve. “Okay, that was weird. She’s terrifying, right? It’s not just me?”

 

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s not just you. So, uh. Why don’t we order both Italian and Irish food?”

 

“Sounds good to me.”

 

* * *

 

Bruce is the next person to discover one of the dogs’ secret tasks. He’s working in the lab, analyzing samples when his hand slips and he cuts his finger on one of the glass microscope slides.

 

He hisses, dropping the slide, and quickly grabs a cloth from nearby, wrapping his finger in it. He walks over to the sink, cleaning the cut and bandaging it, before heading back over to clean up the mess.

 

He finds Smash standing in the way, and she refuses to move, even when he asks her to. He stares at her for a minute, trying to figure out what’s wrong, when he notices a drop of blood on the floor, directly below her, and he smiles sadly.

 

“Yeah, Natasha taught you that, huh? Good girl, Smash. Hold on, I’ll clean that up.” He holds out the paper towel he’s holding for her to sniff, then reaches down, wiping up the blood and then using a disinfecting wipe to clean the floor completely. As soon as he’s done, Smash steps out of the way, dropping back down to lay beside the table Bruce was working at.

 

“Alright. Let’s get back to work.”

 

* * *

 

Sam’s feeling fine during one of his group therapy sessions, so he’s kind of surprised when Ava nudges him, and he looks down, watching as Ava wanders over to one of the other men in the room, gently nudging the man’s knee, then walking back over to Sam, nudging his side again.

 

Sam watches her, scratching her behind the ears, and he waits until the end of the therapy session to pull the man she had nudged, Andrew, aside.

 

“Hey, how are you doing, man?” Sam asks, and Andrew shrugs.

 

“Not great? I mean, it probably shouldn’t be a big deal, but. Well, the nightmares are getting worse, and I just can’t seem to shake them, you know?”

 

Sam nods. “Yeah, I know what you mean. What we can’t deal with when we’re awake, our brains try to deal with when we’re asleep. Doesn’t make it any easier, though.” Sam pauses. “Have you ever thought of getting a service dog?”

 

Andrew fidgets a little, not quite making eye contact. “I looked into it not long after I got home, but I don’t know. What if I hurt them? What if I couldn’t take care of them?”

 

“You’d do just fine, Andrew. I’ve seen you, in here. You care about everyone you meet, every time you look at Ava you smile just a little, and even when you’re upset you seem more upset with yourself than anyone else. Listen, try applying to some organizations. I can give you a list of reputable ones. If they think you wouldn’t be suitable as a handler, they’ll let you know. Otherwise, trust them. This could be really helpful for you.”

 

Andrew nods. “Okay. Yeah, okay. Thanks, Sam.”

 

“No problem. I’ll see you next week?”

 

“Yeah, see you next week.”

 

When Sam gets back to his car, he texts Natasha.

 

**Sam:** I thought you taught Ava not to approach people in my therapy groups?

 

**Natasha:** Mostly. I did train her an exception to that rule. Did you talk to the person she nudged?

 

**Sam:** Yeah. He’s having a pretty rough time. I did my best to help.

 

**Natasha:** Good. That command is called “outreach,” by the way. Just a way for her to help you do your job right :)

 

**Sam:** Uh-huh. First of all, rude? Second, thank you.

 

**Natasha:** You’re welcome. Come by the tower soon, we miss you :(

 

**Sam:** You don’t miss me, you miss my cookies.

 

**Natasha:** Same thing. Thanks!

 

**Sam:** I didn’t even say yes yet?

 

**Natasha:** You didn’t have to.

 

Sam rolls his eyes, but he puts the phone back in his pocket, starting the car and driving home with a quick stop at the store first, because he knows Natasha’s going to want his white chocolate raspberry cheesecake cookies. She didn’t have to say anything, either.

 

* * *

 

Clint’s doing some target practice in the shooting range Tony had designed specifically for him (a room with a learning AI that could direct targets around the room to make it more challenging for Clint, because he never misses and Tony really, really wants to put that theory to the test) when he discovers Lucky’s trick.

 

He’s just emptied a quiver of arrows, and he sighs from where he’s crouched on his perch, one of the overhangs built into the wall specifically so Clint could sit on them. “And now for my favorite part of practice, gathering all my arrows again,” he grumbles to himself, but he hasn’t even taken one foot off of his perch when Lucky wanders up, holding an arrow in his mouth.

 

Clint takes the arrow, head tilting to the side as he watches Lucky move around the room, gathering Clint’s arrows and bringing them back to him.

 

“JARVIS, can you video call Nat for me please? Using the camera for this room in general?”

 

“Of course, Mr. Barton.”

 

A hologram video of Natasha pops up in front of Clint. “What’s up?” she asks, and Clint points over at Lucky.

 

“Did you train him to do that?”

 

Natasha watches for a moment, then a grin slowly spreads across her face, and she nods. “Yeah. I call it ‘taking the arrows to Legolas.’”

 

Clint can’t help it, he laughs. “Okay, that’s fair. If you tell Tony, I’m shooting you though.”

 

Natasha’s eyes go dark so fast that Clint shivers. “You wouldn’t dare.”

 

“That’s true, you scare the shit out of me, Tasha.”

 

Natasha’s eyes brighten up again. “As it should be. Happy shooting, Katniss.”

 

* * *

 

On one particularly frustrating occasion, Stephen finds himself needing to look into the future at possible outcomes for a situation, and he sits down on the floor of his bedroom and closes his eyes, taking some deep breaths and focusing his mind. He calls on the time stone, and starts to look forward into all the possible futures.

 

It’s overwhelming; he’s only ever done this once before, and it wasn’t a particularly fun event last time, either, but at this point he can’t see another option for the situation. He watches millions of outcomes play out, some almost exactly the same, others so drastically different that it’s almost hard to conceptualize.

 

He reaches the end of all the possible outcomes, 10,300,075, and then tries to reach back for the current reality, but he just… can’t find it. He’s gotten so bogged down with the possibilities, that he’s lost track of the actual, present day reality.

 

The millions of possibilities start to flood his senses, jumbled and confusing and overwhelming, and Stephen’s starting to wonder how long this can possible continue for when something slams into his body, and he’s thrown back into reality, the time stone shutting as Stephen’s brain disconnects from its power, trying to get his bearings.

 

He’s flat on his back on the carpet in his bedroom, and Thelonious is standing over him, licking his face. Stephen’s not sure whether to be grateful that he’s back in reality or disgusted that his face is being licked by a dog. He decides to be disgusted, pushing Thelonious off.

 

“Gross,” he tells the dog, but Thelonious is still looking at him like he puts the stars in the sky (he doesn’t), and he gives up on being disgusted, settling for resigned. “Fine, well done. Thanks for getting me out of that. I’m guessing Romanoff taught you that.”

 

Thelonious wags his tail, and Stephen takes that as a good enough answer. He stumbles to his feet, using one hand resting lightly on Thelonious’s shoulders to steady him. “Okay. Let’s go eat something, and then we have work to do.”

 

After the situation has been handled, and turned out the way Stephen knows means it will resolve itself, he texts Natasha.

 

**Stephen:** You taught Thelonious to tackle me?

 

**Natasha Romanoff:** Yes. Tony said you had a weird freak out once, and he had to shake you to get you out of it. We call that command ‘hard reboot.’

 

Stephen rolls his eyes, because of course that’s what they would call it.

 

**Stephen:** Thank you. I think.

 

**Natasha Romanoff:** You’re welcome :D

 

* * *

 

The first time it happens, Bruce thinks it must be a fluke.

 

By the fourth time, however, he can’t deny that this is definitely something Natasha must have taught Smash. They’re not even in New York, they’re in Hong Kong, so there is literally no possible way Smash could have or would have done this if it wasn’t something Natasha had trained her to do.

 

He pulls on the pair of pants Smash brought him (always purple, the pants are always stretchy, purple sweatpants), and follows Smash back to the ship from where he’d woken up after the battle had ended and Smash had led Hulk away from the city, letting him change back to Bruce away from prying eyes.

 

When they reach the ship, everyone else is waiting for them, and they take off as soon as Bruce and Smash are safely on board.

 

“Did you teach Smash to bring me pants?” Bruce asks quietly, and Natasha smiles at him, handing him the headphones he usually uses when he’s changed back after missions.

 

“Yeah. That’s her ‘cover up’ task. I figured that we needed to do something so you don’t get arrested for public indecency,” she says, winking at him, and okay, yeah, Bruce kinda wishes he hadn’t asked, because Clint is barely containing his giggles, Tony is clearly laughing from his spot in the pilot’s seat, and Steve looks like he has second hand embarrassment. Still…

 

“Thanks, Nat,” he says, putting on the headphones, and she gives him a thumbs up just as the music starts to play.

 

* * *

 

Wade knows that Athanasia has a lot of tasks she’s learned, including a lot of practice with intelligent disobedience, but he wasn't exactly expecting this trick that Natasha had apparently taught her.

 

He’s just minding his own business, walking down the sidewalk with Athanasia, when someone starts to yell insults at him from the other side of the street.

 

“Yo, you’re just like an off-brand Spider-Man, dude, and not even a good one! You should leave the vigilante stuff to people who actually know what they’re doing!”

 

Wade fucking hates people. Which, okay, that’s a lie, but right now this guy is making it hard for him to remember why he likes people. “I’m keeping your ass safe, maybe don’t be a dick about it!” Wade shouts back, and the guy just keeps walking down the street in the same direction as Wade, yelling insults at him.

 

“No one could love you and all of your bullshit, just get over it,” the guy yells, and you know what? No, that’s the last straw, Vanessa loved him, and that  _ means _ something to him.

 

“Listen buddy--!” Wade starts, about to just run across the street and hit him, when the world spins and Wade suddenly finds himself staring up at the sky, 140 pounds of fluff laying on his chest and licking his face.

 

“Damn, Atha, move!” Wade grumbles, but she stays put, holding Wade down, and he sighs. Typical. Leave it to Natasha, or the fucking author, to just not let him do his own thing. He relaxes, takes some deep breaths, and Athanasia finally moves, standing beside him as he gets to his feet.

 

Wade turns around, walking down the sidewalk back the way they’d come from. “Fine, let’s go home.” He texts Natasha.

 

**Wade:** Seriously Nat? You made my dog pin me to the ground?

 

**Scary Momma Spider:** Yeah. It’s called ‘anchor.’ I’m proud of her. Give her treats from me.

 

**Wade:** You’re the worst.

 

**Scary Momma Spider:** Yes I am. But Athanasia’s not. Give her treats.

 

**Wade:** Fine.

 

Wade sighs, entering the warehouse he and Athanasia call home and closing the door behind him, walking over to one of the boxes in the room and tossing Athanasia a treat. He doesn’t like it, but she still did her job well, so she deserves treats for that. Still, fuck Natasha. And the author, fuck them too. Rude.

 

* * *

 

Fubar has a lot of cool talents, and Bucky’s sure he hasn’t discovered even half of them yet, but he learns one of them after a particularly bad flashback on the communal floor in the tower.

 

The flashback was one of the worse ones; taking out four SHIELD agents on a mission, and the mission had been compromised part way through, forcing him to take on all four agents at once in hand-to-hand combat. He’d succeeded, but he’d broken a few ribs in the process.

 

He comes back down from the flashback breathing heavily, reaching out for Fubar and blinking blearily when he doesn’t feel him anywhere nearby. As he adjusts to his surroundings again, reassuring himself that he’s in the tower, in the living room on the communal floor, he spots Fubar a few feet away, laying down with Bucky’s metal arm underneath him, and Bucky frowns, head tilted to the side.

 

“How did you get that off of me?” he asks Fubar, and he startles when a voice answers him.

 

“I taught him that,” Natasha says, and Bucky turns to find her sitting at the counter in the kitchen. She stands, carrying the cup of tea she was drinking and another cup that she hands to Bucky, which turns out to be raspberry tea, one of Bucky’s favorites.

 

“So, you taught Fubar to take my arm from me?” Bucky asks as Natasha settles down on the rug across from him, and she shrugs.

 

“If it seemed like you were no longer responding? Yes. I figured you’d feel better knowing that you couldn’t hurt people as easily when you’re having flashbacks. It’s something I’ve always worried about for myself, too.”

 

Bucky nods. “You’re right. Thanks, Nat.”

 

Natasha hums, taking a sip of her tea. “Do you want to talk about it? The flashback?”

 

Bucky thinks about it. “No, I’d rather drink tea and do something calmer. Can we play Scrabble?”

 

“In Russian, or English?” Natasha asks, and Bucky grins.

 

“Both. Do you accept the challenge?”

 

Natasha grins back at him. “Absolutely. Let’s do this.”

 

* * *

 

After Peter starts taking Araneus to school with him, he starts to get more and more relaxed at school, not worrying quite as much about his every move because he knows that Araneus has his back. This apparently comes with unfortunate side effects, which Peter discovers after Araneus knocks him over in the middle of P.E. class.

 

They’re running laps around the gym, and part way through, with no warning, Peter finds himself on his back on the floor, with Araneus licking his face.

 

“Everything alright, Parker?” Coach Wilson asks, and Peter sits up, waving a hand.

 

“I’m fine! Just tripped, sorry!” he gets back to his feet, going back to running around the gym, glancing at Araneus at his side in confusion.

 

Then it happens again a week later, and Peter’s starting to wonder if Araneus is catching some kind of symptom that Peter doesn’t realize he’s showing, so he texts Natasha.

 

**Peter:** hey Nat, Araneus is acting weird. he’s knocked me down twice in P.E. class now. any idea why?

 

It only takes a few minutes for the reply to come through.

 

**Natasha:** Yeah, I taught him that. You sometimes start walking or running on the wall instead of the floor without noticing when you’re feeling calm, didn’t want your classmates to learn your secret identity.

 

Peter reads the text, head tilted to the side while he thinks about it. Huh. He never realized that.

 

**Peter:** cool, thanks! i think? did you have to make him tackle me though???

 

**Natasha:** You’re welcome, and yes, yes I did. Get back to studying, nerd.

 

Peter sighs, but he tosses the phone onto his bed, working on his chemistry homework.

 

* * *

 

Steve learns another interesting command of Verity’s early one February morning, when a sudden blizzard leaves him and 59 other people trapped in a church with no power and no heat. They’ve scrounged up every last available blanket, coat, and piece of fabric they can find to help keep everyone warm, but it’s still not enough.

 

Families are gathered together under blankets for warmth, and Steve had elected to go without anything else at all, reassuring Father John that he’ll be fine, any effects from the cold won’t last long thanks to the serum, so it’s no big deal.

 

Father John had given him a strange look, but he hadn’t argued it, going to help the rest of the parishioners as best as possible. Steve helped as best he could, helping to rearrange the prayer candles around the room to make as much light as possible and helping to comfort and reassure everyone in the room, but when there was finally nothing left to do, Steve found himself curled up in one of the aisles, blowing on his hands and rubbing them together to try to keep them warm.

 

It wasn’t frostbite or pneumonia or even hypothermia that Steve was worried about, necessarily. He knew that the serum would kick those no problem. He just couldn’t stop thinking about the past, couldn’t help remembering the way he’d had to carry some of the soldiers under his command back to base in World War II, how they had died, sometimes because of bullet wounds, sometimes from hypothermia or pneumonia alone. He had brought their bodies back because he wanted their families to at least have their bodies, have their loved ones back even in death. He can’t shake the feeling that he should have done more, should have helped them before it got this bad.

 

Steve can’t shake the fear of those last few minutes in the Valkyrie, knowing he was going to die, knowing he was going to die cold and alone in the middle of the ocean. He remembers hitting the water, and there were a few cold, terrifying moments as the ship filled with water and sank, lower and lower, and he kept breathing in water, feeling like he was choking, and then he watched as everything faded to black, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the depth of the ocean around him or the lack of oxygen.

 

He’s pulled out of the memories as a weight presses down on him, moving around and jostling him side to side, and he finds Verity bouncing around in his lap, fidgeting and rubbing against his chest in this cat-like way, and Steve’s confused, because it’s like she’s-- it’s like she’s trying to  _ keep him warm with her own body heat _ . Steve is left momentarily breathless, and then he wraps an arm around Verity, pulling her in and rubbing her belly, her back leg kicking Steve’s legs in response.

 

“Good girl, Verity. Good job,” he murmurs softly to her, burying his face in her fur and just taking a few deep breaths, steadying himself. “Good job.”

 

When the blizzard has passed and the church has finally been dug out of the snow, power restored and everyone heading home, Steve goes back to the tower, finding Natasha on the communal floor and pulling her aside from where the team (including Sam, Peter and May, and Jessica and friends) are sitting around sharing stories over hot chocolate and marshmallows that have been toasted over the stove.

 

They step out into the hallway, and Natasha looks confused.

 

“Everything okay?” she asks, and Steve nods.

 

“Better than okay, actually. You taught Verity to help me in the cold, didn’t you?”

 

Natasha smiles at him. “I figured with your past, that might be important. It made sense. Now, are you joining us for our group idiocy? Because there’s a mug of hot cocoa and a s’more with your name on it by the stove. Not literally, but still. Come join us, Steve.”

 

She walks away, and Steve sighs, following her. He’s not sure how he’s ever going to get her to stick around long enough to accept a compliment, but he’ll figure it out. That’s what friends are for.

 

* * *

 

Luke can’t figure out why Harvey keeps acting so weird. He ends up going to Jessica to complain about it, because she’s had Whiskey for longer than he’s had Harvey, so maybe there's just something simple he’s missing.

 

“I don’t understand it,” he says, sitting across from Jessica on her bed, because she still hasn’t bothered investing in more than one couch, her bed, and the chairs at her desk. “He does so good most of the time, and then sometimes, during conversations, he just tries to push me away from the person I’m talking to.”

 

Jessica hums, taking a drink of whiskey. “Well, are there any patterns? Things you’re talking about, types of people you’re talking to?”

 

Luke thinks about it. “Actually, every single time it’s been a woman, and we’ve been talking about getting coffee sometime.”

 

Jessica spits out her mouthful of whiskey, laughing so hard that Luke’s a little worried that she might choke.

 

“What? Why are you laughing? What did you do?” he asks, and Jessica takes a few minutes to collect herself.

 

“I didn’t know she would actually do it, holy shit,” she gasps out between her laughter, and Luke frowns.

 

“ _ Jessica _ .”

 

Jessica sits up. “Alright, alright. I asked Natasha to teach Harvey to push you away from women if one of you mentioned coffee. We called it ‘cockblock.’ I didn’t think she would actually do it, but that’s funny as shit.”

 

Luke rolls his eyes. “Do you know how to stop him from doing that?”

 

“No? Ask Nat, she trained him, not me.”

 

Luke grabs his phone, texting Natasha.

 

**Luke:** Hi Nat, I’ve just found out about Harvey’s ‘cockblock.’ Can you train him to stop doing that?

 

**Natasha:** Yeah, that’s easy. Come by the tower, I’ll show you.

 

Luke stands, calling Harvey over. “Okay, I’m headed to the tower. I hate you, by the way.”

 

“No you don’t.”

 

“No, I don't. But I’m still mad. See you later, Jess.”

 

“Bye, Luke.”

 

* * *

 

Rhodey doesn’t normally use a wheelchair, thanks to the prosthetics Tony’s made for him, but sometimes the prosthetics break down, or he’s having too much pain, or he needs to go out for a really long time and he’d just rather use a wheelchair. Today is one of those days, and while usually things are fine, he’s run into a problem.

 

He’s on one of the Air Force bases, in a meeting with some of the other Colonels, and he’d left for just a moment to use the restroom, only to find on his way out of the bathroom that the door button to get back out wasn’t working.

 

Valor presses the button once, twice, three times, but it doesn’t work. Rhodey wheels over to try it himself, but it’s not working, and there’s no one else in the bathroom and the cell service in here is shit, so Rhodey's stuck.

 

He sighs, leaning back in his wheelchair, resigning himself to just waiting for someone to show up, he’s too tired to care right now, when Valor starts whining, pawing at the bathroom door. Valor never does that, and it makes Rhodey jolt upright, watching the dog with concern.

 

“Valor, bud, do you need to go out?” he asks, and Valor glances back at him briefly before going back to scratching at the door.

 

“Damn it,” Rhodey mutters under his breath, wheeling up to the door and locking his brakes in. “Okay, bud, let’s give it a try. I’ll just open it, and then we’ll figure it out from there, I guess.”

 

Rhodey grabs the handle, pulling the door towards him, and he’s holding it open, trying to figure out what to do when Valor steps in front of him, nudging the door open further, so Rhodey lets go, watching as Valor pushes the door all the way open and stands with his side against it, keeping it open.

 

“Huh,” Rhodey says, watching Valor curiously, “What do you know? That's a neat trick.”

 

They head back to the meeting, but as soon as it’s over Rhodey texts Natasha.

 

**Rhodey:** Did you teach Valor to hold open manual doors?

 

**Natasha:** Yeah, figured accessible doors don’t always work properly. Guess I was right?

 

**Rhodey:** You were right, and you just saved my ass from being stuck in a bathroom for the next hour and a half. Thanks, Nat.

 

**Natasha:** Anytime :D

 

* * *

 

Jessica discovers the trick Whiskey had learned after an evening of nightmares and flashbacks had lead her to the nearest bar and as much cheap alcohol as she could afford. She’s tired, and very drunk, and very pissed off, because there’s a guy on the other side of the room catcalling her, and she’s going to fucking lose her shit, right here, right now.

 

She’s already had a bad day; she’d taken on a new case about a possible kidnapping and manipulation of a kid, mostly because the family had been turned down by at least three other P.I.s and they’re clearly worried, and Jessica felt bad turning them away.

 

However, with the new case comes old memories, and she’s been hallucinating Kilgrave all day, his voice whispering in her ear, and she can’t seem to avoid him when she’s asleep, either, so she’d hoped that getting piss drunk would help, but the guy across the room isn’t making it any easier.

 

“Come on, sweetheart, just smile!” he calls, and that command, right there, ‘smile,’ is what breaks her.

 

She gets to her feet, storming across the room with her hands balled into fists at her sides. “You know, what, asshole?” she says, voice quickly building to a yell, “Say that one more time, and for the rest of your life your own smile is going to look pretty fucking miserable with your teeth missing!”

 

She’s two thirds of the way across the room when she crashes to the floor, face first, and she’s flipping over to see what tripped her, only to find Whiskey standing up from where the dog had dropped into a down right in front of Jessica’s feet.

 

By this point, the bartender has come around from behind the bar, standing between her and Potential Violent Assault Case #35.

 

“You need to leave,” the bartender says, and Jessica grumbles as she gets back to her feet.

 

“Fine, fuck you too. Whatever.”

 

She goes home and crashes on the couch, because she knows from experience that the hardwood floors in the office are much easier to clean vomit off of than the carpet in the bedroom.

 

It’s not until she sobers up later the next day that she fully processes exactly what Whiskey had done the night before, and she calls Natasha, who picks up on the second ring.

 

“Jess, what’s up?”

 

“Did you teach my dog to fucking trip me?” Jessica asks, and there’s the sound of fists hitting a punching bag on the other end of the line, heavy breathing and the creak of chains as the pounding sounds stop.

 

Natasha laughs between breaths. “Yeah, yeah I did. I call it ‘damage control.’ Did you like it?”

 

Jessica scowls, and she hopes Natasha can sense that through the phone. “No, I didn’t fucking like it, I’ve got a fucking bruise on my cheek and a headache.”

 

“But you don’t have your thirty-fifth lawsuit being filed against you, do you?” Natasha asks, and Jessica hates her for knowing that shit.

 

“Ugh. Whatever. Fine. Thanks a lot, Nat.”

 

“Love you too.”

 

Jessica hangs up, flopping back down on the couch as Whiskey wanders up, licking her hand and then heading for her food bowl.

 

Fine, it’s a helpful command. So what. Jessica will take that confession to the grave.

 

* * *

 

Tony learns a second trick of Diva’s when he’s at a Stark Industries gala, wandering around the room and trying to appease all of the guests as best he can. This is honestly one of Tony’s least favorite obligations, partially because he’s never been particularly comfortable at formal events, and mostly because he’s terrified of messing up, of causing someone to leave the event with a bad impression of the company that makes them stop supporting Stark Industries’ endeavors.

 

Tony’s been walking around for at least an hour now, and has been pulled into a group conversation with four of Stark Industries’ top financial supporters, where they’re all asking Tony question after question about his designs, the research and development department’s ideas, and the projected course for the company in the next few years, all of which are questions that technically, Tony isn’t supposed to be answering at all.

 

Tony, however, is answering their questions as much as he can without revealing too much, because he’s quite honestly panicking about having any of the people in this conversation back out of their support for the company, and if that means leaking a little of his and R&D’s designs, well, that’s probably just the cost of business, Tony supposes. He’ll just have to work extra hard to make even better designs that will blow any designs he’s explaining right now out of the water.

 

Tony’s only about five minutes into the conversation when Diva starts nudging at his hip, whining and shuffling his paws, and Tony frowns.

 

“I’m afraid I’ll have to get back to you, ladies and gentlemen, we need to step out for just a minute,” Tony says, leaving the conversation and taking Diva outside, stepping out into the cool night air and walking Diva down a back alley to give him a chance to pee, only to have Diva just stare calmly back at him.

 

“Really? We left, just so you could stare at me? What was that?” Tony asks, and Diva just looks back at him, wagging his tail. Tony sighs.

 

“Whatever. You know what, I want to go home. Can we go home? We were there long enough, right? Pepper can yell at me later.”

 

Tony walks Diva back to the front of the building, getting his car from the valet and heading home to the tower, stopping on the communal floor to see if anyone’s awake to talk to, because it’s still pretty early in the night and Tony’s bored.

 

Natasha is sitting on the couch in the living room, nursing a cup of tea and watching Queer Eye on Netflix. She pauses the show when Tony and Diva come in, smiling up at them.

 

“Welcome back, Tony. Hot chocolate?”

 

“Sure.” Tony follows Natasha into the kitchen, leaning on the counter while he watches her. “So, Diva started whining and got me to leave the gala, but he didn’t even need to pee or anything. Any idea why he might have done that?”

 

Natasha puts the mug of milk in the microwave, then turns to face him. “Yeah, I taught him that. You don’t always know when to leave a situation that’s not good for you. I call it ‘party’s over.’”

 

Tony groans. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you? I was dying of palladium poisoning, Nat, give me a break.”

 

“No, I’m never letting you live that down, you literally peed in your own suit, Tony.”

 

“It has a great filtration system!”

 

“I don’t care, Tony, it’s the principle of the thing.”

 

* * *

 

The first time Sable performs her secret trick, it confuses the hell out of Frank.

 

He’s curled up in bed, not willing to give enough shits to get out of bed and go do something, when Sable wanders up beside the bed, grabs his phone off the nightstand, and then takes off with it.

 

“Hey!” Frank shouts, and when Sable doesn’t come back, Frank gets out of bed, tosses on a pair of pants and a shirt and follows Sable, finding her standing just outside the front door (how the fuck did she open the door?) holding her leash in her mouth and with Frank’s phone on the ground in front of her.

 

Frank sighs. “Fine, we’re going on a walk. Let’s go.” He picks up his phone, tosses on a pair of shoes, and puts Sable’s leash on, following her as she leads him straight to the tower and its outdoor dog park. Frank takes off her collar and leash, letting her into the park and settling down on a bench, watching as Sable runs in circles in the park, making Frank smile.

 

He texts Natasha, asks if she and Lapushka want to join them, and they’re at the gates a few minutes later, Natasha walking over to join Frank on the bench while the dogs chase each other through the bushes in the back of the park.

 

“How’s it going?” Natasha asks, and Frank shrugs.

 

“I just wanted to sleep today, but Sable stole my phone, so I guess we were going on a walk.”

 

Natasha nods. “Good. I taught her that, by the way.”

 

“You what?”

 

“Yeah, well, depressive episodes only get worse if you just stay in bed. So I taught her to make you get out of bed, by any means necessary.”

 

Frank narrows his eyes. “What do you mean by ‘any means necessary?’ I need you to elaborate on that.”

 

Natasha shrugs. “You’ll see.”

 

Frank sighs. Sure, whatever. He didn’t need to know, anyway.

 

* * *

 

Thor learns Sparkles’ trick one day when the team is out having dinner, and someone decides to question whether Sparkles is actually a service dog or not, telling Thor to his face that Sparkles is just a pet, and he needs to leave her at home.

 

Thor tries to be calm, and the other Avengers try to help, but the person is adamant that Thor is faking Sparkles as a service dog, and he’s just started to stand up to confront (and probably fight) this person when, from under the table, Sparkles howls at full volume, and the room stops, Thor turning to stare at Sparkles in confusion.

 

“I don’t understand,” Thor says, and Natasha raises a hand.

 

“That would be me. I call it ‘battle cry,’ it’s her command to get your attention when you’re angry,” she explains. While she’s talking, the person who had originally questioned Thor slips away, using the distraction to leave before Thor does get around to fighting them.

 

Thor shakes his head. “That makes sense, but that’s not what I meant. She yelled ‘peanut butter.’ Of all things, why peanut butter?”

 

Most of the table breaks into fits of laughter. Even Natasha can barely hide a smile.

 

“Well, that may have been what I used to train her. Asking a dog to howl on command isn’t always easy.”

 

Clint is laughing so hard he’s actually crying. Loki’s barely doing any better.

 

Thor nods. “Well, she has performed admirably.” He sits back down, reaching down to pet Sparkles’ head before turning back to the group. “So, what were we talking about again?”

 

* * *

 

Matt isn’t even really aware of Grace’s trick until the day after it happens. He wakes up with a start, reaching around blindly (no pun intended) to try and get his bearings. A hand grabs his.

 

“It’s okay, Matt, relax. It’s Foggy. You’re at my house, Claire and I are here.” Matt stops, reaching out with his senses. He’s on Foggy’s couch, Foggy’s crouched beside him, Claire is in the kitchen behind the couch, and Grace is laying on the floor off to the side.

 

“Foggy? Why am I here?”

 

Foggy moves to sit on the couch, careful not to sit on Matt’s legs. “Well, apparently you were out Daredeviling last night and fell into a dumpster, hit your head pretty hard and got knocked unconscious. Besides a concussion and some cuts and bruises, no major wounds, but when Grace couldn’t get your attention, she apparently came and found me to help you. I texted Natasha, she called it the ‘Lassie’ trick.”

 

“That does sound like something Natasha would do. Anyway, if I’m fine, then why am I here?”

 

“Because you’re an idiot, and both Claire and I wanted to chew you out. When we’re done being mad at you, you can go home, but first we want to yell at you for being an idiot.”

 

Matt groans. He already doesn’t like this new trick of Grace’s.

 

* * *

 

Aelfhun’s skill turns out to be way more fun for Loki than he ever could have anticipated. They’re in a pretty bad situation, a mission gone wrong that has Loki, Thor, and Aelfhun trapped in a room with potentially dozens of enemies coming.

 

“What do we do?” Loki hisses, and Thor grins.

 

“Let’s do ‘get help.’”

 

“No! I am not doing that again, I  _ hate _ it,” Loki says, glaring at Thor.

 

“Come on, we need to do something,” Thor argues, and before Loki can say anything, there’s a shimmer of light, and Aelfhun transforms into a tiger, jumping into Loki’s arms.

 

Loki and Thor both stare at Aelfhun in Loki’s arms for a minute, and then it dawns on Loki.

 

“Okay, let’s do ‘get help.’ Ready, Aelfhun? Thor, you’re going to open the door. One, two, three!”

 

“Get help!” Thor yanks the door open just as dozens of enemies approach the doorway, and Loki flings Aelfhun at them, Aelfhun roaring with his claws extended, tearing through enemies while Thor and Loki take out the stragglers.

 

When they get back to the tower, sweaty, covered in blood, and exhausted, Loki takes a shower, then heads up to talk to Natasha. He finds her in the gym, working on a punching bag.

 

“Nat,” he says from a distance, because say what you will about Natasha’s peripheral vision, Loki is not taking the chance of getting hit because Natasha didn’t realize he was there.

 

She stops, turning to look at him. “Yeah?”

 

“You taught Aelfhun ‘get help’?” he asks, and Natasha grins.

 

“I did. Did it work?”

 

“It worked perfectly, that was amazing. So, did you specifically teach them to turn into a tiger for that command?”

 

“What? No, but that’s good thinking. Give Aelfhun some extra treats for that.”

 

“I will. Thanks, Natasha.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

* * *

 

Danny’s talking to a man on the street about his role as the Iron Fist when he hears a voice behind him yell “Hey, buddy, are you gonna pay for that?” He turns and finds Dewei trotting towards him with a hot dog in his mouth, the street vendor he’d apparently gotten it from glaring at Danny.

 

“Sure, yeah, sorry about that. Why did you give him a hot dog, though?” Danny asks, walking over to pay the vendor, who shrugs.

 

“He had a service dog vest on. I assumed he was doing something you asked him to do.”

 

Danny guesses that’s fair. “Okay. Sorry about that. Here.” he hands the vendor a twenty dollar bill. “Thanks for the hot dog, and thanks for being so accepting of service dogs!”

 

Danny reaches down to take the hot dog from Dewei, walking away and eating it as he goes, even though he can’t figure out why Dewei did that.

 

A week later, Danny’s talking to a woman in the park about how different New York City is from K’un Lun, when he hears a “Oy, that dog just stole one of my pretzels!”

 

He turns, and Dewei is trotting away from another street vendor, carrying a pretzel in his mouth.

 

“Dewei!” Danny chastises, running over to the man’s cart. “Sorry about that, I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. Here.” he hands the man a hundred dollar bill, following where Dewei has already started to walk away.

 

“Dude, what the hell?” Danny asks, taking the pretzel from Dewei, but the dog ignores him, continuing to walk, and Danny just sighs, munching on the pretzel in one hand and texting Natasha with the other.

 

**Danny:** hey nat, dewei is stealing food from ppl now. any idea y?

 

**Natasha (Black Widow):** Yeah, Colleen and I talked when I was training Dewei, and we taught him that. It’s called “Silence is Golden,” because according to Colleen (and Jessica) you don’t know when to shut up about K’un Lun and the Iron Fist shit.

 

**Danny:** y didn’t u just say something?! :(

 

**Natasha (Black Widow):** Because this was funnier, lmao. Besides, you need to eat a lot anyway, right? With using all that chi? So really, we’re doing you a favor. Just have Dewei carry money too, or, even better, stop telling every stranger you meet about your bullshit. We’re New Yorkers, Danny, we don’t give a fuck.

 

**Danny:** rude :( but ok

 

Danny starts having Dewei carry money in a pocket on his vest that says “Money Here.” He has to refill the cash inside at least once a week, sometimes more, but he doesn’t really care. Besides, as it turns out, Dewei has good taste in food.

 

* * *

 

Nebula was already having a bad day before she saw the evening news with the rest of the heroes in the tower.

 

She’d had nightmares most of the night, and then she’d had this uncomfortable, restless feeling all morning and she’d gone on a walk with Quasar to try and get rid of it, but all she’d managed to do was make herself nervous and tired, and her body just hurt, everything hurt and no matter what she did she couldn’t seem to get the pain to go away.

 

She’d tried all her normal tricks; weighted blanket, cuddling with Quasar, laying down on the couch with her feet up against the wall and her head drooping down the front of the couch, recalibrating her prosthetics, even meditating, but nothing helped. So she’s already on edge when the team is watching the news before Jeopardy and a news story about a trans woman is played.

 

“What should have been a fun night out turned into a 911 call when a group of women having a ‘Girl’s Night Out’ were interrupted by three men who attacked the trans woman in their group, authorities say,” the reporter says, and Nebula freezes, heart pounding in her chest.

 

And it’s stupid, Nebula thinks, because the story obviously isn’t about her, but she just keeps picturing all the people over the years who had hurt her when they’d realized who she was,  _ what _ she was, and she panics, runs out of the room and into the hall before she can process what she’s doing.

 

Her prosthetics start to malfunction, popping in and out of place at random, and she tries to control them, but it seems like every time she’s gotten one back to normal another one messes up, and it’s too much to handle, she’s too tired for this--

 

Her train of thought is cut off when Quasar walks up, pushing another of Nebula’s prosthetics back into place with a satisfying click. As Nebula watches, Quasar starts to push at the different malfunctioning prosthetics with her nose, and Nebula quickly starts to help, doing the ones Quasar hasn’t gotten to yet.

 

When everything is back in order, Nebula scratches Quasar gently behind the ear, murmuring her thanks. She looks up when she hears footsteps approaching from the living room, and finds Natasha poking her head out into the hallway.

 

Nebula knows for a fact that Natasha is able to walk without making a sound, and tends to do so simply out of habit, so walking with heavy footsteps had been an intentional choice to give Nebula warning that she was approaching, and Nebula appreciates that.

 

“Everything alright?” Natasha asks, and Nebula nods, standing up.

 

“Yeah. Quasar was helping me with prosthetics issues.”

 

Natasha smiles. “Good, I was hoping she would do that. Tony and I worked together to train that. We called it ‘team rebuilding,’ a way for Quasar to quite literally help you get yourself together when you’re overwhelmed.”

 

“Thanks, Natasha.”

 

“No problem. Now come on, you’re going to miss Jeopardy, and no one would want to miss out on Tony and Rhodey proving their statuses as insufferable know-it-alls.”

 

Nebula rolls her eyes. “You’re right, it would be a damn shame to miss out on that,” she says dryly, but she follows Natasha anyway, because she loves this band of misfits, despite (and sometimes even because) of their massive egos.

 

* * *

 

Natasha has no problem making threats of violence against others, or describing in detail exactly what she thinks of some asshole’s unwelcome advance on her, but she does have a very hard time actually admitting to the things that hurt and trigger her.

 

There’s good reason for this; she’s been a spy her entire life, and you don’t survive as a spy by spreading personal information and weaknesses like gossip, but it does mean that, even though she actually has a trusting and caring support system now, she still sometimes bottles things up, cries about them in private and tries not to let it show.

 

Now is one of those times. She’s just come home after literal days of being on a mission, one where she’d had to resort to all of her old methods, all of her old techniques as a spy to get the information she needed. So she probably should have expected the way that when she comes home, the first thing her body does is lead her to her personal floor, into the bathroom and into the shower, curling up on the floor and finally letting go with a broken sob.

 

She can’t have been there for more than a minute or two when she nears nails click across the tile floor, and she sees Lapushka standing in front of her, Natasha’s current favorite box of tea in her mouth. Natasha laughs softly, taking the tea from Lapushka.

 

“Yeah, that’s not a bad idea. Let’s go,” Natasha says, standing up and walking out to the kitchen with Lapushka at her side.

 

She asks Tony about it in his workshop later, when she’s taken a shower and her head is finally clear enough from the mission that she can process what happened. Tony just grins at her. “It’s called ‘self care.’ It might be the only hidden talent Lapushka has. It might not be. You’ll never know.”

 

Natasha contemplates that for a minute. “So, you're still a little mad about the whole ‘Natalie Rushman’ thing then, I take it?”

 

Tony’s grin looks positively shark-like now. “Well, we all have our secrets, right?”

 

“Uh-huh. Thanks, I think?”

 

“You’re welcome. Now get out, I’m working on improved designs for your Widow Bites.”

 

Natasha doesn’t need to be told twice.

 

* * *

 

Shuri teaches Ubunye a new command behind T’Challa’s back, mostly because she thinks it’s funny but partially because T’Challa really needs to get his shit together and talk to Nakia about his feelings.

 

So the next time T’Challa runs into Nakia with Ubunye by his side, and he freezes up, struck by just how beautiful Nakia is, he finds Ubunye suddenly shoving him, head butting the back of his legs until he stumbles forward, crashing into Nakia.

 

“Uh, I’m sorry,” T’Challa says, regaining his balance and stepping away, but Nakia just laughs, pulls T’Challa into a hug.

 

“It’s fine. I think Ubunye’s trying to tell you something, and maybe you should listen to him.”

 

T’Challa nods, hugging Nakia back while he tries to steel his nerves. “You’re probably right. Nakia, would you like to go to dinner with me?”

 

He pulls away, and Nakia smiles. “I would be honored to do so.”

 

They make plans, and T’Challa walks away feeling better than he has in a while. When he tells Shuri what happened, Shuri doesn’t even bother trying to hide her excitement.

 

“Yes! I knew that was a good idea. Well done, Ubunye,” she says, walking over to one of the tables and tossing Ubunye a treat from a bag of them she has in the lab.

 

T’Challa’s confused. “What was a good idea?”

 

Shuri grins. “Teaching Ubunye to push you into Nakia if you freeze when you see her. I call it ‘antifreeze,’ and it worked!”

 

T’Challa rolls his eyes. “You’re the worst.”

 

“Hey, I got you a date!”

 

“You’re right, you did. But you’re still the worst.”

 

“Love you too, brother.”

**Author's Note:**

> Service dog facts of the day:
> 
> -A lot of service dogs are very intuitive, and can learn to adapt in situations where their normal tasking isn't working. In a book on how to train your own service dog by Lelah Sullivan (which you can get for Kindle on amazon [ here](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B015SJ32AM/ref=dbs_a_def_awm_hsch_vapi_taft_p1_i0)), she tells a story about how she had taught her service dog to retrieve her hairbrush from her dresser, but when the dog couldn't find the brush one day, he instead grabbed the travel brush she keeps in her purse. She had not taught him to grab that brush specifically, but he adapted to the situation.
> 
> -Similarly, I know that I had taught my service dog in training to alert in increasingly obvious ways if I ignored the first few alerts. For example, I taught him to nudge my hands if I started to dissociate. If this didn't seem to be working, he would paw at my leg, and if that didn't work, he would put his paws up on my lap and nudge my face.
> 
> -Ideally, I notice when he starts to nudge my hands and then he's done tasking for the moment, but sometimes I'm too dissociated to respond to something that subtle, so he has other, more obvious cues he uses if I'm not responding.
> 
> With that said, if you'd like to see drabbles or notes related to this series or want to talk to me about this series or anything else, you can find me on tumblr [ here](https://servicedogsforsuperheroes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> In three days (on the 23rd), I'll be posting the last three parts to the main series. There will be more content related to this series to come, but that will be the end of the main series! I can't wait to share the last parts of the series with you all.
> 
> Bucky's dog Fubar is based on the lovely webcomic [ Bucky and Fubar](https://buckyandfubar.tumblr.com/) by the amazing [ yawpkatsi ](https://yawpkatsi.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!
> 
> Bruce/Hulk's dog being named Smash and the original concept for this series comes from AO3 user [ thingswithwings ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings) and their story [ "Five Ways to Get In Touch with Your Inner Mild-Mannered Scientist" ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/429749?view_adult=true)
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading!!


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